


all of our moves

by itsforscience



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:25:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsforscience/pseuds/itsforscience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Phone sex that leads to Patrick sneaking into Pete's apartment."</p>
            </blockquote>





	all of our moves

**Author's Note:**

> Really though, I kind of fail at the dirty talk.

"I'm not..."

"You so are," Pete says, grinning because he _knows_ that right now Patrick's covering the phone with his hand so that Pete can't hear him breathing harder. "You're totally touching yourself right now, too."

"No, I'm not," Patrick says tightly.

"You are," Pete says again, pressing the heel of his hand down harder against his crotch before he starts unzipping his pants.

"Pete..." He trails off.

"You're not far," Pete tells him, like Patrick doesn't know this fact. He lifts his hips up so that he can tug his pants down, he's not wearing underwear today. Doesn't have a clean pair.

Patrick forgets to cover the phone and Pete hears him swear, his breath hitching.

Pete fists his cock right then, his voice rough when he says, "Get the fuck over here, Stump."

"_Fuck_." Patrick fumbles with the phone, shifting hands or something because his voice gets distant and then clear again.

"Okay, _now_ you're touching yourself," Pete says confidently.

"I'm," Patrick pauses, then stumbles along, "I, yeah, I am."

"Good," Pete says, voice low, and he wraps his hand around the base of his cock.

"Pete, this is..."

"Tell me everything," Pete demands, he takes his hand off his dick for one second to reach over at the bedside table, stretching until he gets the touch lamp. He wants it dark for this.

"I want to see you."

"God, you're..." Patrick whimpers and stifles a groan.

"Don't hold back, dude." Pete squeezes himself and his eyes flutter, staring off into the darkness of the room. "Tell me."

"I'm, fuck." Patrick's voice sounds closer when he speaks again. "I. I'm touching myself."

Pete smirks, amused. "Where?"

"Oh fuck you, you know where," Patrick says, and Pete laughs.

"Come on, man."

"I. Okay. _Oh_." Patrick stops and breathes heavy into the phone, Pete starts moving his hand faster to catch up. "Pete," Patrick says, "I'm doing it slow." And Pete's movements slow down.

"Now what are you doing?" He asks, trying to picture Patrick, imagining him somewhere in the dark of his room, wherever his eyes are staring off into.

Pete hears Patrick groan, low in the back of his throat. "I have one hand on my, on my dick."

Pete shuts his eyes, still seeing black, still drawing the image of Patrick in his head. "Okay."

"Yeah," Patrick says, barely a whisper. "My other hand, I, fuck I don't have lube, but." Patrick starts making an obscene licking noise, trying to be quiet, but he must be holding the phone close because the noises are coming in pretty clear.

Pete thumbs the head of his cock, he presses the side of his face to his pillow and clutches the phone tighter. _Fuck_, Patrick is going to kill him with unexpected hot.

The noises stop and Pete shivers, slowing his hand down, trying to catch his breath when Patrick says, "_God_, fuck Pete, you should be here, should be doing this..."

"Could be," Pete says, panting. "Could be, 'Trick, _fuck_." He imagines Patrick on his bed, a leg bent up, one hand fisted around his cock while his other hand reaches lower, pushing two fingers into himself.

It could be Pete, it could be Pete pushing him down, pressing him into the bed and pulling Patrick's leg up around his waist while he slides his fingers into him. Could be.

Pete doesn't even notice that the line's gone dead until the door opens and a sliver of light pours through.

Someone walks in, shutting the door behind them and kneeling at the edge of the bed. Pete feels them tugging down his pants all the way, tossing them somewhere on the floor near the bed.

"Hey Patrick," he says, grinning. The bedside drawer opens and closes and then Patrick's pressing a bottle of something into his hand. And Pete, he says, "Really?" Because they've done things, but they haven't done _this_.

Patrick makes a small amused sound, and Pete knows that he's shrugging without even seeing him. He straddles his waist, and when Pete feels skin on skin he realizes that Patrick's naked, _naked_, at least from the waist down. Usually it's unzipped pants or boxer shorts, it's never _naked_.

"Really?" Pete says again, a little more breathless this time. His hands are sliding up Patrick's thighs.

Patrick puts a hand on Pete's chest, petting lightly, and again Pete knows without seeing that Patrick's nodding right now.

Then Pete's reaching down, his fingers trailing up Patrick's thigh and behind his balls, massaging his fingers to where Patrick's already stretched open by his own fingers.

Pete asks, "Can I?"

Patrick bends down so that his lips are touching Pete's, panting lightly against each other. "Do what you want to me."

Pete hisses and pushes in one finger slowly, so slowly because it's dry, but Patrick pushes down. "Jesus," Pete breathes.

"Fuck," Patrick groans, "_yes_."

"Wanted this," Pete says, he licks his lips and Patrick slips out his own tongue, sliding it against Pete's. When Pete says, "Wanted _you_," it's muffled by Patrick's mouth.

"Mmm," Patrick hums and pulls back. Pete pulls his finger out and uncaps the lube, squeezing it onto his palm in a rush. Patrick just sits there, on his lap, his fingers stroking down Pete's waist. "Are you going to fuck me?"

"Patrick," Pete says faintly, wishing he could look him in the eye now. Patrick kneels up and Pete positions himself against him, has to feel around a bit in the dark, squinting down to where their hips should be.

Pete hears Patrick gasp when the tip of his cock pushes in, can imagine him staring up at the ceiling, his head tipped back, the long sweaty line of his jaw and his perfect, gaping mouth.

Totally by accident, Pete's hips buck up and he slides in more than halfway too fast. He's breathing hard with the effort of stopping, doesn't _want_ to stop but does. Pete squeezes Patrick's thigh apologetically and says, "Sorry, sorry."

But Patrick just groans and sinks down until Pete's in all the way. "You," Pete gasps.

Patrick just pants, his fingers over Pete's bellybutton, he says, "Fuck, do that again."

Pete blinks a few times before he puts his hands on Patrick's waist, moves them further down to Patrick's ass and then urges him to kneel again until his cock is sliding out. Pete feels his heart thud in his chest for two beats before he's pulling Patrick down and thrusting up into him again.

Patrick cries out a bit, the hand touching Pete's hipbone disappears and he knows the _exact_ moment Patrick wraps it around himself. Because he recognizes that small moan in the back of his throat, like when they're in the van and Patrick thinks no one's awake to hear him jerk off.

"_Jesus_," he hears Patrick say, "fuck, faster Pete, you need to do it faster, I - shit, _come on_."

"Patrick--"

"This," Patrick interrupts him, voice raw. "Thought about this, did you ever think about it Pete?"

"Fuck. _Patrick_." Pete squeezes his eyes shut, his nails dig in. "Every fucking day, Patrick, _shit_."

"Uhn," Patrick whimpers and Pete loosens his grip, knowing already that there will be little nail-shaped imprints on Patrick's skin later, probably for days, where no one but him can see.

"Pete, this, did you think of this when we were on the phone?" Patrick takes in a shuddering breath, says, "I did, I was picturing it, you fucking me."

Pete hisses, "Yeah, _yes_, yes, God, I was." He breaks his rhythm for one second, wrapping a hand around the back of Patrick's neck and pulling him down for a kiss, their teeth clack and it's not great at this angle. Except for how it fucking is.

"How?" Patrick whispers once he breaks away from the kiss, his breath hitting Pete's jaw. "Was it like this? Or was I on my back?"

Pete hums, his hips snapping up faster. "On your back."

"We'll do it like that next time." Patrick's voice is shaky but firm, moving up and down on Pete's lap. "Whenever we get a next time, wherever, I, _oh_." Patrick pushes his hips back into Pete's, harder than before, his shaky breath and the wet slap of skin filling the room.

Pete lets Patrick do most of the work from there, his fingers mapping Patrick's skin in the dark, his body, Patrick like this, his, for him. He says, "The van, motels."

"Your place," Patrick mutters, swearing under his breath when Pete wraps his hand around the one Patrick's got on his dick. "Your place, mine."

"My bed." Pete smirks. "The kitchen."

Patrick laughs a little before his body freezes and he shudders above Pete, coming over their laced fingers and Pete's chest, moaning loud into the room.

Patrick clenches around him and Pete grits his teeth. He rolls them over on the bed so that Patrick's on his back. Impatient and clumsy. Pete pulls out and settles between Patrick's legs, grabs his cock and lines himself up again. Patrick whines a little when he thrusts back in suddenly, but he just puts his hands on Pete's shoulders and spreads his legs wider.

Pete fucks him for a few moments more before he's coming deep inside Patrick, pressing his face against the curve of his neck, mouthing against the skin.

He collapses onto him and they both just pant and try to catch their breaths. Pete hasn't pulled out yet, he's kind of unwilling to. He wants to stay like this forever, and he says as much to Patrick.

Patrick laughs a little breathlessly and presses a kiss to Pete's neck, lets him stay like that for a while longer before he starts getting fidgety and nudges Pete's arm. "Pete, Pete, hey."

Pete sighs and waits a few more seconds before he pulls out and then reaches over to turn on the lamp. He smiles at the face Patrick's making, his nose wrinkled as he shifts his legs closer together. Pete kisses him on the cheek.

"Pain?" Pete asks, leaning up.

Patrick looks contemplatively up at the ceiling. "Nope, not really, it's just... different?"

Pete smiles. "Feel gross?"

"Yep," Patrick answers, pulling Pete down on top of him.

"It's cool," Pete says against Patrick's temple, "We'll get clean tomorrow."

"You know," Patrick says, "I think my mom's stopped expecting me to come home whenever I go to your place." He smiles a little. "It's unsettling."

"S'good," Pete mumbles against his cheek. "That way I won't ever have to give you back."

"That's kidnapping."

"It's not kidnapping if you don't _want_ to go back."

"Stockholm Syndrome," Patrick sighs fondly, brushing fingers through Pete's hair.

Pete doesn't say anything for a while, just gropes around for the blanket rumpled at the end of the bed - and gropes Patrick in the process too - he throws it over himself and Patrick. A tent over their heads. He says, "You're not so shy in the dark, Mr. Stump."

Patrick's mouth quirks up as he looks up at Pete. "It's a lot easier in the dark," Patrick says and then smiles, "It's easier with you."


End file.
